Songs for Humankind

Anyone who knows me knows that, on any given night, you can more than likely find me rounding up the day in front of a self portrait I've drawn that night, in tears, listening to "Songs for Drella" by Lou Reed and John Cale. Some albums fall in and out of vogue throughout the years, but since college, something like 15 years ago, I've only been consistently satisfied listening to Verdi, Puccini, and the Velvet Underground while painting. This album is a veritable bible. It holds enough wisdom and instruction to lead an entire human life. If you don't know it, buy it now. If you don't have the means tell me and I will try to get you a copy.

Blind Sycophancy

I'll let you into one of my own trade secrets. When I do portrait photographs, and the sitter arrives, I always look delighted when I open the door and see them for the first time. It's a concocted reaction to seeing them and it sets the tone for the entire session. I don't mind revealing this because I think it's a good thing. This person is paying me to get a good image, and this means I need to manipulate them into smiling and projecting whatever beautiful things they are holding inside themselves out onto their faces.
I do genuinely adore almost everyone who poses for me. In fact, I pretty much adore all the masses of people I pass on the street every day. I wish I could meet them all and photograph them.

On the street in the morning I always see little, fat schoolgirls waiting for the bus by themselves. They're less popular and more introverted. They don't have many people who are always pleased to see them and subsequently they speak softly and look at the pavement when they walk. It's a shame to see a human, just as fascinating as all the others, restrained and silenced. Don't get me wrong, I'm an impassioned, slaved dog for any pretty face that passes by; but it doesn't stop there. People are strange, amazing ... wondrous. I love everyone.

Perenially Confused

I have been traveling for a while and haven't seen much news for a little over a week. Coming home and checking the news on the internet I was excited to see a new scandal involving the US military - the US Army Secretary was dismissed due to shocking conditions at the Walter Reed Army Medical Centre. I imagined festering disease that was left untreated for weeks due to bureaucratic irresponsibility or negligence, or collapsing walls crushing poor soldiers as they recovered from their wounds, but it turned out to be only damp walls and animal pests. This has left me, once again, confused. These men and women, who have been sent overseas to war and have returned with physical wounds, are considered mistreated because the rooms they are staying in have damp patches? Isn't it somewhat more pressing that they have parts of their bodies missing due to explosions? Maybe my perspective is a little off-centre; call me crazy, but who cares if they have mice in their walls? I'm more worried about the bullets and bombs they've been subjected to. I guess I was hoping for some stark, black and white wake-up call that these people aren't on a divine mission from God/America to preserve the liberty of this pure section of the globe against those maddened Muslims over there.

On another note, a young US soldier cut in front of me at the security gate at Savannah Airport in Georgia, USA last week. Like a lot of people who cut into lines, he ended holding me up while he searched for his passport and boarding pass etc. Instead of being treated with the reverence I was expecting, he was greeted with the usual contempt from the security staff who want to keep the line moving. I took this as a sign that the tides really have shifted and the general public just isn't buying the line of "we have to stand behind our men and women who are putting their lives on the line for our freedom" propaganda anymore. Hopefully, if this becomes more vocal, these soldiers will realise they are not heroes who will be cherished and put on pedestals for the rest of their lives, but are instead cannon-fodder who are readily sent into danger for the sake of the economic privileges of the elite - a club they will never, ever, be unworthy enough to join.